“I don’t know,” I admitted miserably. I stood, with care, and handed Monty to her before scurrying to the window. I parted the curtains to find the view obscured by the downpour, struck by a sudden, horrible vision of Fallon standing below me on the wet street, impervious to the rain and aiming a gun at the bright square of this lighted window, with my body dead center.
I dropped to a crouch.
“Dear God, is he out there?” Patricia cried.
I shook my head, lips numb. The bone-deep cold returned, rendering my limbs all but useless. I rocked back on my heels and found my voice. “I don’t think so, but something is wrong. I felt Ruthie just now, really strong. I think…I think Fallon found her.”
“You are certain they received your telegram? That they have been made aware he was headed their way?”
Booted feet thundered up the stairs; I knew it was Malcolm before he appeared in the doorway, hatless and wild-eyed, scanning the little room as he entered. Spying me crouched at the window he flew to my side and helped me to my feet. He brought me against his chest and I cinched his waist with both arms, holding fast.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” His rapid heartbeat thudded against my right cheek.
“Camille felt Ruthann, just now,” Patricia explained. “Something is the matter.”
“I think Fallon found her,” I repeated, my words muffled by Malcolm’s shirt. His forehead was bandaged, his dry, clean clothes borrowed from Cole. He drew back to look at me, his thumbs tracing careful paths along my cheekbones. The left side of my body was bruised from my fall, never mind the ache of a lost molar; my tongue had been unable to leave the small concavity alone. But my wounds were minor compared to Malcolm’s.
Malcolm wasted no time questioning why we believed something was wrong; he saw the desperation in my eyes and spoke adamantly. “They are prepared this time around, remember that. They know he’s coming. Marshall and Axton will be there, along with Grant.”
“But he’s so dangerous.” I clenched my thigh muscles to keep them from trembling. “I’m so scared…”
Malcolm held my gaze; the white of his right eye was redder than blood, a result of being struck in the forehead. I cupped my hand on that side of his face, wishing I could reverse the damage done to him today. Wishing we were back in the little hotel room in Muscatine with the whole night ahead of us. He admitted quietly, “I’m scared too. But if we give in, we’re as good as lost. Fallon ain’t undefeatable. Remember that.”
“But he…he’s…” I couldn’t finish; Fallon was so many terrible things it seemed beyond words.
“Come downstairs with me, we’ll keep watch together. I don’t much like having you out of my sight as it is, I can’t pretend otherwise.” His lips curved with a hint of his sweet smile before he turned toward Patricia and Monty. “And I’ll send Cole straightaway to you and the little one, dear lady.”
The Lunds had retired to their personal rooms above the general store, located in the building across the street. Probably so that eye contact was not required, Cole and Derrick sat at right angles to one another at a small dining table in the downstairs gathering space, the only other people in the boardinghouse. A fire crackled in the belly of a squatty iron stove, filling the room with warm orange light. They both looked up at the sound of our descent on the steps, their features highlighted with odd slants of light and shadow, elongating their noses. Though I didn’t know Derrick well, I realized he was reaching the end of his patience with all of this.
“Patricia requests your company,” Malcolm said to Cole, who nodded, gathered up his rifle, and disappeared upstairs.
Derrick shifted position like a restless cat, pinning me with a direct, irritated gaze. Eyes flickering between my hand – intertwined with Malcolm’s – and my face, he asked brusquely, “How much longer, Camille? And don’t pacify me, please. I’ll implode.”
I studied Derrick for a beat of silence, noting his rumpled appearance, including wrinkled clothing and heavy five o’clock shadow, his hair in disarray; this man was severely unaccustomed to living rough and I was not unsympathetic. But that didn’t change the fact that I had no answers, appeasing or otherwise. I took the seat Malcolm withdrew for me; he rested a hand on my shoulder for a moment before claiming the chair to my left. Rain lashed the single window at the front of the room while lightning continued to backlight the curtains.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, clearing the thickness from my throat. “I don’t know if it will be instantaneous once we’ve…once we’ve…” I skittered to a halt.
“Once Fallon is gone, you mean?” Derrick finished for me, leaning forward with his forearms lining the table’s edge, lacing his fingers and fitting his thumbnails together.
“Yeah,” I whispered, scooting my chair closer to Malcolm’s just as he scooted his closer to mine.
A perplexed frown beetled Derrick’s brow as he observed this, but to his credit he made no mention. He lifted his left hand, fingers splayed as he counted off events. “We’ve saved the man named Blythe, we’ve rescued Patricia and the baby, and we’ve sent word to your sister in Montana. Is that enough to reverse the timeline? What are we missing?”
Irked by his assumption that I possessed all the answers, I snapped, “How the hell should I know? I know exactly as much as you do right now.”
Derrick’s lips thinned. “I am not attempting to aggravate you. I’m fucking scared out of my wits, if you must know the truth. I’ve already jeopardized myself by helping your family. My father would kill me. Fallon would kill me, on sight.” Derrick’s tone was outright hostile and I sensed more than saw the way Malcolm’s shoulders squared. I rested a hand on Malcolm’s thigh, beneath the table.
Derrick continued, with slightly less steam, “We’re
